Day: December 22, 2014

It was 10 years today that a car bomb took out a gun truck that had several Peoria-area Marines in it. They were severely injured, some permanently. The incident forever changed the lives of dozens of people and lead to the death of a man whom I grew to be friends with, Tyler Ziegel. I didn’t know many of these guys prior to the bombing so I would never call myself a close friend. I grew to know some of them and befriended their platoon leader, Master Gunnery Sgt. Ron Richards who is a helluva guy (and a terrific football coach, btw). He wrote on his Facebook page a tremendous recount of what he remembers and wants others to as well. With his permission, here it is, uncut, verbatim and without any more comment.

I will never forget December 22nd, 2004.
I remember joking around the with Marines on that truck that afternoon in Al Qiam. I remember seeing the Marines off. I also remember getting called into the CoC that night. I remember standing in that Iraqi building hearing the news that there were 7 Marines on a truck that got hit. Somehow I knew it was my truck while denying it could be possible. I told the LtCol, “There were 3 belt fed weapons on that truck”, like machine guns can ward off evil. Under the circumstances it was an odd thing to say.
In a flash forward of time I was in the Shock Trauma Platoon tents. And wounded Marines of Engineer Company C were there. I remember finding Schertz next to the tent door in one tent. Schertz was groggy and wrapped in a blanket. He told me he was cold. He recounted jumping from a burning truck and his leg hurt. Janssen was lying on the bed in that tent. He was in a lot of pain, a crazy amount of pain.
Carey was sitting there. He was fully cognizant and was like a bard with a tale to tell. His hands were burnt and his ear was bleeding. There was fire, an arch of fire, ammo on fire, fuel on fire, and people on fire. After all he’d been through he wanted me to pass on to the Marines that they should not wear Gortex on missions because it was highly flammable. He had used his bare hands to try to put out flames on Ziegel before dragging Ziegel out of a burning truck full of high explosives and his primary concern was making sure the Marines on future missions were safe. Where do we find such men?
In another tent there was a Marine I didn’t recognized. Maybe my conscious mind didn’t let me recognize him. He had no dog tags. He whispered to the nurse, “I’m Tyler” when asked. Later I fetched Sergeant Martin and he recognized the guitar tattoo on his shoulder. It was Tyler Ziegel. I found Constable and he gave me a thumbs up, but didn’t speak. I think that was the last time I saw him.
I wandered back into a third tent to find Dickson laying laid open with two doctors working on him. I hadn’t showered in a week. I was concerned about being in there, but the doctors assured me that there wasn’t anything on me that wasn’t already in him. They had a medical doctor stand by Dickson all night to monitor his vitals.
The truck was attacked too far south to reach Al Qiam by radio and too far North to reach ASP Wolf. The satellite phone assigned to each convoy was to fill the voids between radio coverages. It was dead. There was a delay in getting the medevac to attack site because they had to drive within radio coverage in order to call it in. The convoy commander that failed his fellow Marines is likely weeping this day.
That night the quick reaction force went out to secure the truck and the weapons. They went out with many full Mark 19 ammo cans and came back with many empty. They described to me melted M16 barrels, scattered parts of the attacker, and the scorched remains of a truck.
The next day the doctors of the Shock Trauma Platoon were in disbelieve when I told them that Ziegel and Dickson were still alive. They were quite certain that Dickson would not survive the transport and they didn’t have much hope for Ziegel past the coming weeks.
Corporal McGreeby had called home to and I had to NJP him only to later become a character witness for the Marine I was charging with disobedience of a lawful order. I told the command, “McGreeby is silly and ignorant, but he’s got guts and guts is enough.” McGreeby had volunteered to be on the first truck on the next mission. The First Sergeant nearly choked trying to keep from laughing at my character description during the proceedings. McGreeby was a good Marine that made a mistake.
While the wounded were recovering, the platoon was concerned and anxious for news. I would call the platoon together to give updates on the medical status. I usually hid my tears behind my sunglasses as I spoke. I don’t claim to love all of the wounded to the depth of a father’s love, but there is love. The platoon, in the face of a repeat attack, carried on. They never gave up the mission. First platoon offered to take over; no way, it was our mission to finish. There was fear I’m sure, but no apprehension. We carried on with route clearance and other missions as well. All members of the platoon should be proud. The company should be proud. The Marine Corps should be proud.
Sergeant Huskins shared with me deep concern and remorse about that day. Sgt Huskins didn’t set off that bomb or do anything wrong that day and his genuine distress for his Marines is telling of the character of the man. I believe he would have willfully traded places with those Marines. His sincere feelings for the men in that truck should not go unmentioned.
Sergeant Martin likely has no idea of the profound stabilizing influence he had on the platoon. I sometimes looked to him to reinforce my strength or sometimes my façade of strength. Sergeant Cooper, God love him, just kept working. He provided the focus, the mission. Always pressing forward with a new engineering feat.
I wrote up Corporal Carey for a Bronze Star. Yep, Bronze Star with a V for Valor. It was downgraded significantly and I was indignant. I argued and fought and fussed. I was told that if I kept pressing the issue that I would be charged with insubordination. Charge sheets on the platoon commander would not be doing the platoon any favors. The disservice stood. To level set my expectations, after OIF-1 the Company Commander told me that he could give me a medal or my 2nd in command, but not both. I told him, “don’t award me if you cannot award him, he’s earned it just as much as me. Write up my 2nd in command.”
I do not want to forget December 22nd, 2004. It was a day of tragedy, but it should not be forgotten. The wounded persevered the healing process to outlive the attack. May God bless them and their families. The Marines in the platoon pressed on to complete the mission. All should be honored with remembrance.